


Not All Roads

by ide_cyan



Category: The Exorcist (TV)
Genre: Flash Fiction, Gen, Mentions of self-harm, picking up the pieces
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-19
Updated: 2018-11-19
Packaged: 2019-08-24 03:12:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 789
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16631801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ide_cyan/pseuds/ide_cyan
Summary: It was Father Bennett's job to handle the situation after things went horribly wrong in Mexico City.





	Not All Roads

Bennett didn't even speak to Marcus as they drove away from the police station. He'd pulled strings to get Marcus released, used the local diocese's connections to the police, but the incident had still made the news before Bennett could limit the scandal. He had an example of the newspapers' outraged headlines in his lap as evidence of his failure, and Marcus's belongings, pulled from evidence, in paper bags in the boot of the vehicle.

The child's death was a PR disaster.

He'd promised the Mexican authorities that Father Marcus Keane would face disciplinary measures and managed to get his passport back. The man had to leave the country as soon as possible.

Marcus himself was unusually quiet. Bennett hadn't expected thanks. Marcus was too high and mighty on his own personal crusade to be grateful to the middle managers who ensured that the travel visas and expenses that allowed him to reach the battle lines were sorted and paid for. That the world didn't doubt the Church's capacity in dealing with the Enemy when the worst happened. Not all exorcists had Marcus's track record.

Marcus hadn't lost a child in this way before.

Bennett had seen enough dead children to keep his composure and carry on. He'd adopted the stiff upper lip the British had a reputation for, along with the accent, though, unlike Marcus, he wasn't British by birth. Gabriel's soul would be in his prayers, along with a long list of other names.

Bennett wondered if the child might have lived if he'd tracked down Marcus sooner. He clenched his jaw and considered the prayers he would say on behalf of his own soul. 

Marcus took the newspaper from Bennett and wordlessly read what it had to say about him. Bennett had no doubt that Marcus ought to be facing a disciplinary hearing at the Vatican. The stunt he'd pulled with the gun alone would have been cause.

That had been left in the Mexican authorities' possession. Bennett still had no idea how Marcus had procured the weapon. By the grace of God, Gabriel hadn't died from its bullets.

The taxi dropped them off at Bennett's hotel near the airport. Marcus needed to change his clothes before he could possibly be fit to pass a customs check. And he needed a shower, for Heaven's sake. Bennett still smelled the slums on him, and the jail, and the infernal stench of Gabriel's agony.

Under the fluorescent lighting of the hotel corridor, Marcus looked like hell, and followed Bennett without question.

His docility shook Bennett, who wasn't used to seeing him so tractable. Bennett shepherded him easily, even with his hands full, away from the public areas where he might attract scrutiny. Once inside the room, Bennett opened the bags containing Marcus's belongings, and Marcus tore out the news article about Gabriel from the paper and tucked it into his Bible.

When Marcus stripped and headed into the bathroom, Bennett put his soiled clothes in the trash. Then he tied up the trash bag and placed it by the door to take out himself. It wouldn't do to leave it for room service. He laid out clean, unconspicuous civilian clothes for Marcus, and waited for him to come out of the shower.

And waited. But not too long. He remembered the razor marks on Marcus's skin, and what he'd read in his file about his childhood. Bennett had no intention of leaving Mexico with two deaths on his conscience. The bathroom door was unlocked. 

"That's enough," he said, turning off the jet that scalded Marcus's skin red and raw.

Marcus sat down in a ball at the bottom of the tub as if trying to follow the water down the drain. Bennett wondered how much of the beating he'd taken had been at the hands of the demon, and how much by the police. And how much Marcus might now hurt himself with his own self-punishment.

"Marcus." Bennett covered his shoulders with a towel. "Stand up."

"You were right," Marcus said. He looked up at Bennett and took Bennett's hands in supplication. "I killed him. Gabriel. I lost him."

Father Marcus Keane, the picture of martyrdom, naked in a hotel bathtub. Admitting that Bennett had been right. Lord have mercy, Bennett thought.

Father Marcus Keane was unfit for Rome.

"Pull yourself together, Marcus. There will be plenty of time to review your sins, but we must leave Mexico City first." Bennett lifted Marcus up by the arms and stood him up. "Dry yourself off."

Bennett handed Marcus another towel and left the bathroom door ajar. He needed to make some telephone calls before they left for the airport.

There were kinder places for broken priests. Rome could wait.


End file.
